Poems by Adam Lindsay Gordon Part 33

I shudder'd, but my lids were dry, By death made orphan newly.

A braver man than me, I swear, Who never comprehended fear, Scarce names his mother, and the tear, Unbidden, springs unruly.

SCENE--A Road on the Norman Frontiers.

HUGO, AGATHA, ORION, THURSTON, and armed attendants, riding slowly.

Agatha: Sir Knight, what makes you so grave and glum?

At times I fear you are deaf or dumb, Or both.

Hugo: And yet, should I speak the truth, There is little in common 'twixt us, forsooth; You would think me duller, and still more vain, If I uttered the thoughts that fill my brain; Since the matters with which my mind is laden Would scarcely serve to amuse a maiden.

Agatha: I am so foolish and you are so wise, 'Tis the meaning your words so ill disguise.

Alas! my prospects are sad enough: I had rather listen to speeches rough Than muse and meditate silently On the coming loss of my liberty.

Sad hope to me can my future bring, Yet, while I may, I would prattle and sing, Though it only were to try and a.s.suage The dreariness of my pilgrimage.

Hugo: Prattle and sing to your heart's content, And none will offer impediment.

Agatha (sings): We were playmates in childhood, my sister and I, Whose playtime with childhood is done; Through thickets where briar and bramble grew high, Barefooted I've oft seen her run.

I've known her, when mists on the moorland hung white, Bareheaded past nightfall remain; She has followed a landless and penniless knight Through battles and sieges in Spain.

But I pulled the flower, and shrank from the thorn, Sought the suns.h.i.+ne, and fled from the mist; My sister was born to face hards.h.i.+p with scorn-- I was born to be fondled and kiss'd.

Hugo (aside): She has a sweet voice.

Orion: And a sweet face, too-- Be candid for once, and give her her due.

Agatha: Your face grows longer, and still more long, Sir Scholar! how did you like my song?

Hugo: I thought it rather a silly one.

Agatha: You are far from a pleasant companion.

SCENE--An Apartment in a Wayside Inn.

HUGO and AGATHA. Evening.

Hugo: I will leave you now--we have talked enough, And for one so tenderly reared and nursed This journey is wearisome, perhaps, and rough.

Agatha: Will you not finish your story first?

Hugo: I repent me that I began it now, 'Tis a dismal tale for a maiden's ears; Your cheek is pale already, your brow Is sad, and your eyes are moist with tears.

Agatha: It may be thus, I am lightly vexed, But the tears will lightly come and go; I can cry one moment and laugh the next, Yet I have seen terrors, as well you know.

I remember that flight through moss and fern, The moonlit shadows, the hoofs that rolled In fierce pursuit, and the ending stern, And the hawk that left his prey on the wold.

Hugo: I have sorrowed since that I left you there: Your friends were close behind on the heath, Though not so close as I thought they were.

(Aside.) Now I will not tell her of Harold's death.

Agatha: 'Tis true, I was justly punished, and men, As a rule, of pity have little share; Had I died you had cared but little then.

Hugo: But little then, yet now I should care More than you think for. Now, good-night.

Tears still? Ere I leave you, child, alone, Must I dry your cheeks?

Agatha: Nay, I am not quite Such a child but what I can dry my own.

[Hugo goes out. Agatha retires.]

Orion (singing outside the window of Agatha's chamber):

'Neath the stems with blossoms laden, 'Neath the tendrils curling, I, thy servant, sing, oh, maiden!

I, thy slave, oh, darling!

Lo! the shaft that slew the red deer, At the elk may fly too.

Spare them not! The dead are dead, dear, Let the living die too.

Where the wiles of serpent mingle, And the looks of dove lie, Where small hands in strong hands tingle, Loving eyes meet lovely: Where the harder natures soften, And the softer harden-- Certes! such things have been often Since we left Eve's garden.

Sweeter follies herald sadder Sins--look not too closely; Tongue of asp and tooth of adder Under leaf of rose lie.

Warned, advised in vain, abandon Warning and advice too, Let the child lay wilful hand on Den of c.o.c.katrice too.

I, thy servant, or thy master, One or both--no matter; If the former--firmer, faster, Surer still the latter-- Lull thee, soothe thee with my singing, Bid thee sleep, and ponder On my lullabies still ringing Through thy dreamland yonder.

SCENE--A Wooded Rising Ground, Near the Rhine.

HUGO and AGATHA resting under the trees. THURSTON, EUSTACE, and followers a little apart. ORION. (Noonday.) The Towers of the Convent in the distance.

Agatha: I sit on the greensward, and hear the bird sing, 'Mid the thickets where scarlet and white blossoms cling; And beyond the sweet uplands all golden with flower, It looms in the distance, the grey convent tower.

And the emerald earth and the sapphire-hued sky Keep telling me ever my spring has gone by; Ah! spring premature, they are tolling thy knell, In the wind's soft adieu, in the bird's sweet farewell.

Oh! why is the greensward with garlands so gay, That I quail at the sight of my prison-house grey?

Oh! why is the bird's note so joyous and clear?

The caged bird must pine in a cage doubly drear.

Hugo: May the lances of Dagobert harry their house, If they coax or intimidate thee to take vows; May the freebooters pillage their shrines, should they dare Touch with their scissors thy glittering hair.

Our short and sweet journey now draws to an end, And homeward my sorrowful way I must wend; Oh, fair one! oh, loved one! I would I were free, To squander my life in the greenwood with thee.

Orion (aside): Ho! seeker of knowledge, so grave and so wise, Touch her soft curl again--look again in her eyes; Forget for the nonce musty parchments, and learn How the slow pulse may quicken--the cold blood may burn.

Ho! fair, fickle maiden, so blooming and shy!

The old love is dead, let the old promise die!

Thou dost well, thou dost wise, take the word of Orion, "A living dog always before a dead lion!"

Thurston: Ye varlets, I would I knew which of ye burst Our wine-skin--what, ho! must I perish with thirst!

Go, Henry, thou hast a glib tongue, go and ask Thy lord to send Ralph to yon inn for a flask.